The salvation of Flame
by Martson
Summary: After Maroch stops Roy from pulling the trigger a series of flash backs make him think about pulling it again hints of RoyRiza


The ghosts of flame

Major Roy Mustang, the flame alchemist looked into the mirror in his tent in Ishbal, fresh from a day of destruction, murder and genocide. The gruesome scenes were replaying themselves in front of his eyes.

_Earlier that day_

_The sound of gunfire was deafening, all that he could do was follow his routine turn, aim, snap, turn, aim, snap again. He kept repeating this routine in every house his squad went to. Armed men, pleading women, injured and crippled children, it didn't matter to Grand, Ironblood had given his orders. They were all to die. And Roy carried them out to the letter. The stench of burned flesh lingered in every house they'd cleared, some of his men lost their rations in the city's street but not Roy. He'd seen and done far worse than to let that affect him._

_The day before_

The rain began to pour down, first a light drizzle then in a torrent, as if the earth was weeping with sorrow for what he and his men were doing. His alchemy was useless in the rain but that didn't matter. He could still shoot and for Grand that was enough. He watched the other alchemists as they carried out their orders. The heartless Basque Grand aiming his arm, transmuted into a cannon at a teenage boy, he fired and the boy slumped to the ground, almost blown in two at the torso from Basques attack. Armstrong with a grim look on his face as he slammed one of his massive fists into the ground and impaled a group of men on rocky spikes. He heard a scream and a howl of laughter as Zolf Kimblee, the crimson alchemist pushed a woman away from him, watching as she blew up a few seconds later. Roy couldn't take anymore and sank to his knees, dry heaving on the ground, and then passing out.

The next memory made Roy reach for his gun again. Not even Dr Marochs words could dissuade him this time.

"Please don't, please, we were just doing our job saving lives. It's what doctors are meant to do god damm it. We wouldn't execute you for what you do for a living" the male surgeon said as Mustang drew his gun. His wife held up a photo. It was of a little girl in a pink dress playing with her dolls.

"_We're not just saying this to save ourselves. We have a daughter, please, don't let her grow up without her parents. I'm begging you" Roy levelled his gun at the man and pulled the trigger._

"_I'm sorry, but orders are orders" he said as the man fell to the ground._

"_Please, just spare my wife, I'll take the blame for whatever that maniac Grand thinks we've done" the man said as Roy raised his gun again, this time at the mans wife._

"_Orders are orders," he said again, although with far less authority in his voice this time. He pulled the trigger. When the woman's eyes had closed he reached down and plucked the photograph from her hand and looked at it more closely._

"_I'm sorry, orders are orders," he said to the photo. As those words left his lips something inside him snapped and he left the tent as fast as he could._

Roy clicked the guns safety off. He'd done so many horrible things, he'd be dammed to burn, like all those he'd killed he'd burn, but unlike them he'd burn in hell, for an eternity of agony instead of for a few agonising minutes. As he placed the gun to the side of his head he noticed a letter that had come earlier that morning but he'd already gone out on patrol so had missed the mail call. He guessed Armstrong had dropped it off for him. Deciding blowing his brains out could wait a few minutes he carefully opened the envelope. It was from Maes.

_Dear Roy_

_I hope to god you're O.K and you're still alive to read this. From what I've heard that place is like hell on earth._

_Guess what? I finally asked Gracia to marry me. SHE'S SAID YES! The weddings in three months and you're coming. Even if I have to knock you out and drag you all the way to the church from Ishbal in a sack. After all if it weren't for you asking her out for me (I can't believe how shy I was about it all at first) this would never have happened. I owe you big time for this Roy, big time. I'd write more but I'm taking Gracia to the ballet in a few minutes and I've got to go. She's so happy; we're already picking out names for our first child. We've settled on Elyssia for a girl. I thought Roy would be a good choice for a boy._

_I really hope you're O.K, I need my best man (I meant to ask you earlier, do you want to be best man? Well you don't have a choice in this Roy, you're my best man) in a fit state of mind for the wedding._

_Maes_

Roy read the letter again, and again, totally losing himself in it, trying to forget what he'd done over the last few weeks in a few lines of ink. Lieutenant Hawkeye came into the tent. She saw the major with Maes's letter a few inches form his face and still with the gun at his head. She snapped into action, darting over and grabbing Roy by the arm, twisting the gun from his gloved hand.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye. What in hell do you think you are doing" he snapped, angry at being interrupted. Her gaze darkened.

"Keeping my promise sir, I said I'd protect you, even if I have to protect you from yourself" the tone in her voice was like one of a mother scolding a child, not one she should be using to address a senior officer. Roy couldn't think of anything to say to this. Riza noticed Maes letter was crumpled on the ground. She picked it up and smoothed it out.

"So, you don't think you should live to go to your best friends wedding?"

"I…" Roy started to say. Riza interrupted him and shoved the letter in his face.

"You've read this, he obviously hasn't given up on you, neither have I"

"What's the point in going on? No matter what I do there's always going to be monsters like Colonel Grand around to carry out atrocities like this one. And a Furher to order them"

"But what if King Bradley wasn't Furher? What if it was someone else, like you?" She said, smiling faintly as she turned and left the tent, leaving the major alone with his thoughts. Roy looked down at his gun, lying on the floor of his tent.

"Furher Mustang" he said softly, the pain in his heart lessening slightly. He stood up, straightened his collar and looked himself in the mirror again.

"Furher Roy Mustang." His trademark cocky smile re-appeared.

"I like it. Now I've just got to get to the top". With that he holstered his gun and made a silent oath, that he'd become Furher, so no other state alchemists would have to contemplate suicide and make sure there would be no more monsters like Grand or wars like Ishbal to drive them to it. His inner flame burned again, more brightly than ever before.

Riza watched her superiors little episode through the flap in the tent. Despite his new found goal and determination she could still see the pain in his eyes. And no matter what happened, that would never go away.

The end

Please reiew, this is my first attempt at FMA fan fiction and I'd appreciate some feedback.


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